


Fracture

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gapfillerpalooza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-05
Updated: 2005-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wishes the words didn’t feel like a lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fracture

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 216  
> Written for LJ's Gapfillerpalooza

Justin perches on a chair in the corner of Ben’s living room and tries to concentrate on Michael’s string of apologies, on Mel and Linds fetching coats from the closet, on the disappointed and angry and just plain befuddled looks on the faces of Ben’s friends -- probably former friends, now -- as they make their exit. He shifts on the seat, glancing at Brian across the room. Brian, looking disinterested and detached and so hot it makes Justin’s teeth hurt.

Justin tries to focus, tries not to think of anything at all except this, poor Michael, fucked over again, tries not to pay attention to the pang of recognition he feels at Michael’s pained expression, crossed arms, deer-in-the-headlights eyes.

He wants to go home, wants to take a shower, _another shower_ , wants to wash the scent of hustler from his skin. He wants his bed, bare skin, cool sheets. He wants to dream.

Michael is talking, hushed tones because Ben is in the bedroom, anger still lacing Michael’s voice like venom, and Brian murmurs something in return, something snarky and biting and _Brian_ from the look on Mel’s face, and Justin zones out in the corner until he hears--

“No, you’re going,” Mel is saying, pushing Michael toward the door, and fuck knows you don’t argue with Mel when she’s in one of her moods. Michael dances in place as he protests, and Mel insists, and Lindsay pacifies, and finally Brian just says “Fuck it!” and drags Michael out the door.

Justin blinks and stands. Scratches his head. Jumps when Mel claps her hands together, once, a sharp crack in the silence.

“Okay,” Mel says. “Linds, you and Em take care of the dishes. Justin, sweetie, can you take down those paper lanterns? Ted, we’ll do these other decorations.”

Justin gets to work, Brian out consoling Michael while Justin cleans up the mess, and he doesn‘t want to think about that, not at all. He puts the thumbtacks in a neat little pile on Ben’s table as he removes them, one by one. He wonders if Ben will be pissed off at the string of tiny holes in his walls.

He hears the clatter of dishes in the sink, the chattering voices of Ted and Emmett, and thinks that if he concentrates he can hear Ben fuming in the other room, his domain overcome with virtual strangers, his birthday ruined.

It was just a birthday. He’ll have another one next year. And the year after that. Until he’s old and grey and doesn’t want to celebrate birthdays anymore.

Except maybe Ben won’t ever get to be old and grey.

And maybe a person only turns nineteen once.

Justin folds a lantern carefully back into shape, from a coloured box to a tiny red square, then moves on to the next. He didn’t want a car, no matter what Ted said. He didn’t want fancy presents or gilded wrapping. He just wanted... he wanted to know... he wanted to feel...

Feel cherished. Feel wanted. Feel needed. Feel special.

He wanted to feel.

Brian loves me, he tells himself. He mouths the words, silently. _Brian loves me._

He wishes the words didn’t feel like a lie.

Paper crinkles against his palm, and Justin looks down at the crushed lantern, blue tissue paper trickling through his fingers like rain. “Shit,” he murmurs.

“It’s okay, honey,” Emmett says on his way past with a tray of dishes. “Things break so easily these days.”


End file.
